


Harry Potter and the Saint's Medal

by electroniccollectiondonut



Category: Deryni Chronicles - Katherine Kurtz, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, Crossover Pairings, Exposition, F/M, Fist Fights, Gen, Magical Accidents, One-Sided Attraction, Period Clothes, Portkeys, Romione Endgame, Sassy Harry, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 18:47:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20511752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electroniccollectiondonut/pseuds/electroniccollectiondonut
Summary: A mishap with a portkey during the summer after sixth year ends with Harry, Ron, and Hermione appearing on a transfer portal in Rhemuth during a peaceful period of Kelson’s reign, where they’re discovered by Duncan and Morgan. Kelson would prefer not to deal with a scandal, so he decides to help them get back to their proper time and place. Unfortunately, that's going to be more difficult than anyone expected.Knowledge of the Deryni series is useful, but not necessary. Basic explanation in the end note if you're interested.





	Harry Potter and the Saint's Medal

The Grangers’ family car, plus one Harry Potter, bumped down a dirt road in the English countryside. Mr. Granger pulled to a halt outside a shimmering barrier that he couldn’t see on the word of his daughter and her best friend. He opened the trunk and unloaded their bags, hugged his daughter goodbye, and gave Harry a wave before he got back in the car and Mrs. Granger rolled down her window.

“Have fun on your trip to Romania, darling. Be careful of the dragons,” she said with a cheery wave.

“I will,” Hermione promised, then lifted her suitcase and joined Harry in the walk down the grassy path to the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley greeted them on the porch.

“We’re glad you’re finally here. Everyone is outside, I’m sure there’s space for both of you in the game,” she said, taking their bags and pointing to the field in the back where they could see a ragtag game of Quidditch occurring.

“Thanks,” Harry called, dragging Hermione behind him to join the game.

Percy was refereeing, Bill and Ron were playing Keepers, Ginny and Fleur were Seekers, Fred and George played Beaters, one to each team, and Luna and Lee were Chasers. Ginny spotted Harry and Hermione first and waved, diving to the grass quickly followed by everyone else.

“‘Mione!” Ron called, nearly lifting her off the ground with his hug. His brothers and their friends greeted them more calmly and then Ginny bounced over, hair a mess even braided back, and handed a broom to Harry.

“You can be a Seeker now, Harry,” she said, hugging him quickly then letting go and turning to Hermione with a second broom. “Me and Hermione can be Chasers. C’mon!” With that, she mounted her broom and kicked off to join everyone else in the air.

Harry grinned and followed, Hermione climbing into the air at a more sedate pace. They played until Mr. and Mrs. Weasley called them all in to dinner about an hour after it had begun to grow dark.

“Now, we have to be up early tomorrow morning so we can leave on time,” Mrs. Weasley said as she directed a train of dishes to arrange themselves on the table, “so I expect you all to be packed and to bed straight away after supper. We’ve set up four portkeys, since there are so many of us, so you’ll be in groups. I’ll let you sort those out yourselves, but at least three to a portkey, please.”

The next morning, too early even for the early risers of the group, they were woken by the magically enhanced sound of an alarm clock and tumbled down the stairs to breakfast. Mrs. Weasley rushed them through the kitchen and out the door into the cold dawn air. They grouped on the lawn, where a medal, a cup, a high-heeled shoe, and a porcelain statuette were sitting on a battered end table.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron claimed the ancient looking tarnished brass medal that Hermione said looked somewhat Catholic and stood back to watch people mill about on the lawn forming small groups. Ginny and Luna were with Bill and Fleur, the twins and Lee were huddled around their portkey still half asleep, and Percy looked supremely grumpy next to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s cheery smiles.

“On three, now, dears,” Mrs. Weasley called. “Ready, one, two, three!”

When she reached three, everyone grabbed their portkeys at once and there were three dim flashes of light and one bright.

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione grabbed their portkey expecting to arrive outside Charlie’s dragon training facility in Romania. Instead, there was a blinding flash of light and when their vision cleared, they were in the middle of a small, windowless stone room with a door that nearly blended in with the wall.

Hermione was the first to come back to her senses, wondering aloud how they got here.

“Well, that’s easy,” Harry said cynically, “Voldemort probably decided to trap us in here with a cursed portkey so that we can’t fight him.”

“C’mon, mate, how could that happen? Everybody was right there the whole time and my parents enchanted to portkeys themselves,” Ron reasoned.

“Hey!” Hermione exclaimed, having paused in her perusal of the little room. “Look at the floor!”

They did, noticing an odd pattern in a circle over the center of the floor, right under where they were standing.

“What do you suppose it is?” Hermione asked. “Do you think perhaps someone’s found a way to build a portkey into the floor?”

Harry shrugged and Ron made a negative sound.

“Maybe we should try to figure out where we actually are, guys,” Harry said. The air was heavy and stifling and something about the room felt off, and not in a good way.

Ron walked toward the door but found that he couldn’t pass the edge of the patterned section of floor. He tried again, walking a bit faster, and bounced off a wall they couldn’t see. He turned back to them, expression anxious. “Maybe You-Know-Who really did decide to get us out of the way,” he joked uneasily.

Harry stood up and took a fighting stance, then began firing all manner of destructive spells at the magical barrier. A bolt of light flashed from his wand to the wall and back again, ruffling Hermione’s hair as she threw herself to the ground to avoid it.

“Harry, stop!” Hermione cried. “It isn’t doing anything, you’re just going to hurt someone. If a spell is holding us here, we need to break the spell, not the room.”

“How do we do that?” Ron asked.

Hermione drew her wand and pointed it at the floor. Taking a deep breath and hoping her idea worked, she breathed,  _ “Finite Incantatem.” _

The air around them cooled a bit and breathing abruptly became easier, making them realize just how difficult it had been before. Hermione took a tentative step toward the door, grinning when she was able to cross out of the patterned section. Harry and Ron followed her, throwing their weight into pushing the heavy door open.

Stepping quietly out of the room, they found themselves in a beautiful, utterly silent cathedral. They walked through to the door, making as little noise as possible in case someone should hear them. Harry and Ron pulled the heavy church doors open just enough for them to look through, freezing when they caught sight of several armed and armored men standing on the other side of a strip of grass. They turned back to Hermione, eyes wide.

“There are people out there, ‘Mione. They have swords!” Ron whispered sharply.

Hermione frowned deeply, then smiled. “That’s alright,” she replied, touching each of them with her wand, “we have the Disillusionment Charm,” she said, somewhat proudly.

“You’re amazing,” Harry said sincerely, slipping out the door followed by his two best friends. They let the door fall shut, making the guards jump to attention and look around uneasily, and moved away from the door into the shade of a nearby tree.

Hermione looked around them, observing the large castle and armored guards. “Where are we?” she whispered, confused. She didn’t know of any castles in Europe that looked like this. And it  _ was _ distinctly European, so unless architecture had changed drastically since the last time she’d left the country, they had to still be reasonably close to England.

“Dunno,” Ron whispered back.

“We should get somewhere without guards so we can talk,” Harry suggested.

There was a pause, the Hermione grabbed each of their hands so they would get separated and they started walking.

It was difficult to find anywhere private and they kept walking even as the early morning dew evaporated from the grass to be replaced with a sweltering heat. A heady scent of roses floated on the lazy breeze. They followed it on a whim and Ron sighed in relief when it led to a massive garden without a guard in sight. Hermione looked around carefully, then flicked her wand to end the Disillusionment Charm… right as two men rounded the corner and stopped dead at the sight of them.

The taller of the men, a blond dressed all in black, swept a sword from its sheath and leveled it at Hermione’s chest. “Who are you?” he demanded. The other man, a bit shorter and dressed in a purple cassock, put a hand on the blond’s arm.

“Alaric,” he intoned gently, “They may yet be allies.” He turned to Hermione. “I am Monsignor Duncan McLain and this is my cousin, General Alaric Morgan. Who are you?”

It was the same question Morgan had asked, but it was infinitely less accusing from Duncan’s lips.

“I’m Hermione Granger, sir. They’re my friends Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. We’re from England, but we don’t know how we got here, or really what here even is.”

Harry nodded and Ron said, “We were going to visit my brother, but we ended up here instead.”

Morgan sheathed his sword and Duncan shot him a triumphant smile. “See? Not Torenthi spies or assassins.”

“Perhaps not,” Morgan said, “but even so we should take them to Kelson for judgement.”

“Of course. Follow us, would you?” Duncan directed the last part to the trio, brows raising expectantly. Morgan led the way, followed by the three young wizards, and Duncan brought up the back.

“General?” Hermione asked as they started walking. “If you don’t mind, who is Kelson?”

Morgan turned back to her so quickly that she nearly walked into him. “You don’t know who Kelson is?” he sounded disbelieving.

“No, sir,” Hermione said. “Should we?”

“Well, he is the king,” Morgan said, voice not quite managing to be casual.

“The king?” Harry asked. “Sorry, but isn’t England ruled by the Queen?”

“Perhaps,” Duncan said, “But we’re in Gwynedd, Rhemuth to be exact, and Kelson is the king.”

They turned into a cool hallway and Morgan knocked on a simple wooden door. A young, bored voice called from inside, “Yes, come in.” Morgan pushed the door open and they entered.

A dark haired boy who could hardly be older than they were looked up from his desk after a moment, face splitting into a grin. “Morgan! Have you some problem for me to solve that doesn’t require paperwork?”

“I do, Sire. Duncan and I found these three wandering around the royal gardens. They aren’t Torenthi, but they certainly aren’t Gwyneddan.”

Kelson, because that’s who he had to be, frowned and looked at them. “Who are you and where  _ are _ you from, then?”

“I’m Hermione Granger and this is Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. We’re from England, Sire,” Hermione said, stumbling for a moment over the title. “We were going to visit Ron’s brother, Charlie. We grabbed the portkey, but instead of going to where Charlie lives, we appeared in a room in the church.”

“Oh,” Duncan said, “You must be Deryni! Well, it makes sense, but I didn’t know one could use a Transfer Portal by accident.”

Hermione frowned. “Sorry, Deryni? And what’s a Transfer Portal? Is it that pattern in the floor? I thought perhaps someone had built a portkey into the ground but I couldn’t say how…”

“A portkey?” Duncan asked.

“Oh, yes, it’s an object with a spell cast on it so that when you touch it you go to a predetermined place. Except perhaps the portkey spell and your Transfer Portal got mixed up and we ended up here?”

“Any object?”

Hermione nodded. “The one we used was an old saint’s medal.”

Morgan cut in there. “Which saint?”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “I’m not actually sure. The medal was very old and quite dirty, but I don’t see how it matters.”

“It may,” Morgan insisted. “How old?”

“Oh, maybe from the tenth or eleventh century, I suppose? I don’t know terribly much about those sorts of things.”

“That makes it only a century old… probably a Camberian medal, then.”

“What? No, it’s 1997 now, the tenth century was a thousand years ago.”

Kelson cleared his throat. “Miss Hermione, it is in fact 1122  _ anno domini _ . Though I think we’ve found out why your knowledge doesn’t match with ours.”

Hermione’s lips formed an o. “Well, we have to get back! Voldemort is going to destroy the world!”

“Voldemort?” Kelson asked, leaning forward curiously.

“He’s an evil wizard. Really bad guy. Kills babies and old people, tortures kids, really bad. We have to stop him or he’ll destroy everything,” Harry explained dryly.

“I see. Well, if you stay, it can only cause a scandal, so I suppose the best course of action would be to help you get back to where you properly belong.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Deryni Chronicles is a series made up of several trilogies spanning about two centuries in-universe. This fic references one of the chronologically later trilogies. The Deryni are a race of people with a wide range of psychic abilities which can, in theory, do anything. In practice, concessions must be made to personal abilities and morals. Being Deryni is not strictly illegal, but humans tend to look down on Deryni and treat them very harshly. They live in a kingdom called Gwynedd, an fictionalization of medieval Britain. The capital city of this kingdom is called Rhemuth.
> 
> Anything else you need to know is covered in the fic itself.


End file.
